


Gemini/Libra

by alouette_des_champs



Series: The Brunch Club [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Astrology, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mental Health Issues, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alouette_des_champs/pseuds/alouette_des_champs
Summary: It isn't enough to be astrologically compatible. Relationships are work.





	Gemini/Libra

**Author's Note:**

> This is the shorter, less sexy follow-up to 'May/December,' but you don't necessarily need to have read that one first. The only connecting thread is brunch. Obviously.

On their third date, Taako had sprung the charmingly cliché question on him over sushi.

_“What’s your sign?” They were both overdressed for the moderately-priced Japanese restaurant located in the middle of a strip mall. Kravitz was in his customary all black everything, while Taako was wearing what appeared to be a floral bodysuit with a wide-brimmed hat that put him in mind of Stevie Nicks. The yuppie couples sharing bottles of sake around them kept glancing in their direction with equal parts bewilderment and scorn. He had shaken his head in response._

_“I have no idea.” There was something about Taako that made him feel constantly caught off-guard, always pleasantly surprised. It had been a long time since he had been on three dates in as many weeks. He was trying not to feel too hopeful._

_“When’s your birthday?”_

_“October 14.”_

_“Hmm, good. You’re a Libra.” He pointed his chopsticks at him meaningfully, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards._

_“What does that mean?” He found himself smiling back like an idiot, even though he had no idea what the other man was going to say next. He was just magnetic. Someone you wanted to be close to all the time. Someone you wanted to like you._

_“We’re compatible, homeboy. Duh.”_

Before they had met, Kravitz had never given astrology a moment’s thought. It was a pseudoscience, and he was nothing if not a scientist. Nothing that wasn’t peer-reviewed and repeatable in a lab made it into his bubble. Normally, he made sure that people peddling snake oil and tarot readings knew that, but Taako was just so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it had temporarily short-circuited the hyper-critical echo chamber of his brain. He had Googled it on a whim the next day and read up about what the stars he had been born under supposedly said about him. It was an interesting exercise in self-reflection, if nothing else. He began to think of himself in terms of easy-to-digest bits of horoscope: _the scales of justice. Fair, sincere, hopeless romantic. Ruled by Venus—order, beauty. Balance, commitment, gentleness._ He found that he liked this uncomplicated and self-assured view of things.

Then there were the scales. Kravitz was a pathologist; his primary job function was to perform autopsies, and an integral part of any autopsy was to weigh each organ after its removal from the body. The metal scale that hung in the morgue was very similar to the one that hung by the produce section in most grocery stores. It had always reminded him of the ancient Egyptian myth of the afterlife; if the heart of the deceased outweighed a feather, then they were not destined for the afterlife, but for consumption. When he had first started his job, he had felt like Anubis, ushering souls into a more peaceful understanding of their mortality, but that allure had begun to wear off. It was a job. A job he liked, and one he was good at, but still just a job.

This unpredictable new relationship filled in the gaps his waning enchantment with his profession had left behind. For a while, things were profoundly uncomplicated between them. There were no games. There was no dancing around the subject. They liked each other, so they were dating. When their schedules allowed, they went on dates. They made each other laugh. They looked good in pictures together. It was fun and easy and casual until it wasn’t.

_“Which sign are you?” he’d asked after that third date, when they were saying goodnight in the parking lot of the strip mall. Taako had grinned, as if he had been waiting for him to ask, and flipped his hair a little like he did when he was about to say something completely over the top._

_“Gemini, obviously. Notoriously charming, notoriously two-faced.”_

Compared to the frivolousness of their first few weeks as a couple, there was a certain gravity to the lack of production in their nights together now. They had been dating for around six months, but it was only within the last couple that Kravitz had begun to be allowed to see Taako in sweatpants, no foundation, acting human instead of like some ethereal, chaotic fairy. He usually stayed the night on Friday or Saturday night, sometimes both. Work dominated his life during the week. He didn’t spend much time in his own apartment except to sleep; it was bigger, but sparsely furnished, utilitarian, a minimalist Ikea set-up. Nothing was comfortable or lived-in. By contrast, the other man’s apartment was full of life: good smells, bright colors, messy and warm.

Kravitz was sitting on the bed in his pajama pants and an old t-shirt, replying to e-mails. Having a lot of unanswered e-mails piling up in his inbox made him anxious, so he checked it a few times a day, even on the weekends. Taako was standing at the dresser, shuffling around a pharmacy’s worth of pill bottles. Some were empty, years old, some were recent and still rattled when he shook them. If there was any sort of system to it, it was a system that only Taako understood. He emptied a few different pills into his palm and tossed them back all at once. Kravitz saw him make a face in the mirror, like he always did when he took his pills. They must have tasted bad.

 _“Bipolar I,” he’d said once they’d been dating two months and two weeks, widening his eyes dramatically as if he were confessing to a murder. “The bad kind. Like our mom had.”_ Kravitz had tried to react in the right way: sympathetic, but not smothering. Understanding, but not patronizing. He thought he’d done well despite the fact that his atrocious bedside manner made him more adept at hacking dead people open with bone saws than treating the conditions of the living. 

He hated to think it, but it wasn’t a stretch to imagine the characteristic mercurialness that he loved so much becoming something more sinister, blown wildly out of proportion. The medication made him tired and forgetful, and his hands had a constant slight tremor that he complained made it difficult to use a knife, but it was, by all accounts, better than the alternative. There were whole years of his life that both Taako and his twin sister referred to only with a whistle, an eye-roll, and a somewhat nervous _hoo-boy._ Kravitz did not inquire after the details; he knew that they would come at a steady drip, week by week, until he had the whole story.

He himself was far from socially and emotionally perfect. Spending so much time among the dead had, over time, made him awfully corpse-like himself. Being elbow-deep in body cavities for hours at a time bothered him very little, but it did not tend to endear other living human beings to him. He hadn’t dated much since college, and he had few friends. If he was being lazy, he would say that med school had been too all-consuming, and after that, well, he was the weird autopsy guy whose job made even veteran doctors a little squeamish. If he was being honest, he would say that it was too much work to connect with people. He liked things his way. He was stubborn and type-A and too caught up in his schedule for his own good.

Taako had chosen a profession that matched his own desire for disorganization and chaos; he was a chef at a restaurant that was nice enough that people could drop a pretty penny there, but not so nice that his foul mouth and complete and total refusal to remake dishes that came back to the kitchen did not chafe the establishment overmuch. Kravitz was used to procedural work, sterile and organized, and cooking was the opposite of that. At least, the way Taako did it was. It was fast and creative and out of order. Watching him cook had become one of his favorite things to do, even though he wasn’t allowed to help. His own cooking skills were not up to par, not even close. He had burned one pancake too many and gotten himself banned from the kitchen indefinitely.

“Brunch at noon tomorrow, Bones,” Taako reminded him, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he swept his long hair into a ponytail. He nodded to confirm that he had heard. Brunch with Lup and her fiancé was one of the things they did that never got any less bizarre. Barry was an affable older man who seemed to be very at-home with his place in the twin dynamic: he added very little to the conversation except to vouch for the veracity of some of Lup’s less believable stories when prompted and to roll his eyes good-naturedly. Kravitz always felt more on-edge. He wasn’t used to chatter for chatter’s sake, and it did not help that Taako inevitably drank two mimosas too many. The drunker his boyfriend got, the less footing he had in the conversation, until he was stuttering awkward goodbyes to the other couple while trying to keep Taako from wandering into the street. Nevertheless, every time he went, he had a little bit more fun, and eventually he thought he might be able to muster as much zen as Barry seemed to be able to in the face of the loud, rude, uproarious hurricane that was Taako and Lup in public.

“I feel like Bones is already taken,” he said, not looking up from the lukewarm professional drivel he was typing. “You know, by the popular TV show. ‘Bones.’” He hit send with a sarcastic flourish.

“I’ve never seen ‘Bones,’ Bones.” Their eyes met in the mirror, and Taako smirked. They had this exact same conversation about once a week. Taako had definitely seen ‘Bones.’ In fact, it was after having watched an episode of ‘Bones’ that he had christened Kravitz with the nickname that rightfully belonged to Emily Deschanel’s delightful Dr. Temperance Brennan. Since then, it had been an uphill battle to convince him that he and the fictional Dr. Brennan did not, in fact, do the same job in any way, shape, or form.

“I work with corpses, not bones.”

An exaggerated sigh. “Oh my God. Fine. What do you want me to call you? Desiccation Daddy?”

Kravitz snorted a surprised laugh. “I’m literally begging you not to call me Desiccation Daddy.”

“Okay, seems like the jury’s still out on Desiccation Daddy. Back to the drawing board.” Taako started taking off his rings and placing them in a very particular row on the dresser, in front of the pill bottles. “What about…Dr. Corpselove?”

He made a face and closed his laptop, placing it gingerly on the nightstand. “That makes me sound like a necrophiliac.”

“Are you not?”

“Believe it or not, no.” Turning to face him, Taako put his hands on his hips, looking skeptical. “Do I have to prove it?” Kravitz threw his legs over the side of the bed and beckoned. The other man raised his eyebrows, but acquiesced, making his way over to the bed. Kravitz caught him by the hips and pushed his tank-top up, exposing a flat expanse of pale skin pocked with tiny moles. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss right beside his belly button, dragging his lips across warm skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“I can see that your perversions lie elsewhere.” His tone was fond. His hands rested on either side of Kravitz’s head. One nimble finger traced the shell of his ear. He could feel the tremble, just barely. “Just let me brush my teeth, and then I’ll let you show me all of them.”

“All of them? Tonight? I don’t think we have enough time.”

“Sicko.” He flicked Kravitz’s forehead lightly as he turned to go to the bathroom.

Before he laid down, he got up and turned the light off, pulled the comforter back, plugged his phone in, all the type-A, fussy things he needed to do to ensure that he would be able to sleep. When Taako came back, he flopped down dramatically on his side of the bed. His eyes were bright in the streetlight glow that was still straining through the window. Kravitz reached out and stroked his cheek, running his thumb over his bottom lip, parting them slightly. Desire sparked in his eyes. Taako caught his wrist and slid his thumb into his mouth, just brushing the pad of the digit with his tongue.

He was so pretty sometimes that it hurt. His face was sharp, fox-like, with big, moss-green eyes. He had a beauty mark on his upper lip like an old-time Hollywood bombshell. _“This was the only way our auntie could tell us apart when we were kids.” He’d tapped the spot, smiling fetchingly and slightly drunkenly. One month, ten days. The first time he had been allowed into his apartment, bearing a bottle of wine and a bouquet of grocery store flowers as tribute. “It means I’m the pretty one. Don’t say that in front of her, though, unless you want to get knocked out by a woman.”_

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

“I know.” His smile was dazzling in the way that distracted from the flicker of insecurity in his eyes. “But keep telling me, anyway.”

“My pleasure.” Kravitz wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him close, cupping the back of his neck to pull him in for a long kiss. Sometimes, holding him was like holding a live wire, but sometimes he seemed to melt, soft and pliable in his arms.

They hadn’t gone “all the way” yet. It didn’t bother him—he wasn’t in any hurry, and there was more than enough physical intimacy for him in their relationship as it was. The air of hyper-sexual confidence the other man put on was for protection, he knew, to hide a vulnerability that he was just beginning to be allowed access to, a blanket mistrust that he was just starting to get past. _The first time they had argued seriously, four months and six days in, Kravitz had gestured a little too expansively, thrown his arm out carelessly to the side in exasperation. Taako had flinched, taking an instinctive step back. They had both stopped and stared at one another in horrified silence for a long moment. Whatever petty thing they had been arguing about seemed to evaporate instantly._

_“I’m sorry,” Kravitz had said finally. “Jesus. I would never…”_

_“I know. It’s fine.” He waved his hand as if in dismissal._

_“Can I touch you?” Taako had nodded, pressing his lips together as if he were holding back tears. When Kravitz had folded him into his embrace, his heart had been pounding. He made sure to stand there until it slowed back to a normal rate, smoothing the other man's hair against his head, breathing deeply._

They kissed until both of their limbs started to feel heavy, until the kisses turned from passionate to slow, sleepy, smoldering. The urgent press of their bodies became gentler as their limbs tangled. Desire became affection. Kravitz resituated them so that the other man could rest his head on his chest, one arm wrapped securely around him. He was just beginning to fall asleep when Taako shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you mad at me?” he murmured, barely audible, worrying at the hem of Kravitz’s sleeve with anxious fingers.

“Why would I be mad at you?” No answer, but he knew anyway, cold in the pit of his stomach. _For being a tease._ Someone had hurt him in the worst way. Maybe a lot of someones. He didn’t intend to be one of them. He wanted to say, _I feel lucky just to be here, to be in bed with you, to kiss you to sleep. I don’t have any expectations. I thought I was going to die alone before I met you. Whatever you can give me is enough. More than enough._ But that was too much, and he knew it.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Okay?” He kissed the top of his head.

“Okay,” Taako whispered, letting out a long breath. Tomorrow, they were going to have to talk, to lay out in no uncertain terms which things were okay and which things were not. They were going to have to dip their toes into some things that they hadn’t talked about, things that weren’t fun or casual or cool or sexy. But for right now, he felt an uncharacteristic lack of a need for absolutes. He didn’t need to know how much of this the stars had ordained and how much of it they were going to have to work for. It was enough, more than enough just to be there, to be compatible, to fall asleep.

_Kravitz had been on his way back from his lunch break in the hospital’s cafeteria, staring at his phone, when he had bumped into someone in the corridor. When he had looked up, he had been confronted with a somewhat confounding scene. The person he had jostled had been in the middle of ransacking one of the carts that carried racks of lunch trays to the patients’ rooms, stealing all the little pudding cups and tossing them one by one into a spacious handbag._

_“Sorry,” he’d said, trying to stifle his bemused smile. “Are you a patient here?” This incredibly brazen person did not stop on his mission to pilfer every single pudding from the cart. He had merely glanced up and grinned._

_“Nah. I’m just visiting a friend. He got his arm lopped off the other day. He wanted more pudding.”_

_“Sorry to hear about your friend.” Depending on why it had been lopped off, that arm was probably going to show up downstairs for one of his colleagues to dissect and screen for disease, but he did not say that out loud. People tended not to want to know what went on behind the curtain._

 _“It’s chill. He’s old anyway. He can’t possibly need more than one arm. Are you gonna call the hospital police on me?” He straightened up, hefting the bulging bag of pudding in the crook of his arm. Kravitz thought he might be having some kind of fever-dream._

_“Nope. I work downstairs. The pudding economy up here is none of my business.” He had watched the realization of what ‘downstairs’ meant dawn on this person, as it eventually dawned on everyone, no matter how vague he tried to be about his job. It didn’t appear to give him pause. Instead of pursuing the line of questioning most people did—_ you don’t mean in the morgue, do you?— _he had pursed his lips._

_“Are you hitting on me at work, doctor?”_

_“Are_ you _hitting on_ me _while actively stealing at least four dollars’ worth of pudding from my workplace?”_

__

_“Touché.” He extended his hand. “Taako.”_

__

_Kravitz had raised his eyebrows and returned the handshake. “Kravitz. Is that your real name?”_

__

_“Honestly, who knows? It’s what everyone calls me.” He had rummaged around in his bag for a moment before pulling out a pen and a pudding. He had scrawled something on the lid and handed it to Kravitz before wiggling his fingers in a wave and striding away purposefully, presumably to take the pudding harvest to his friend. There was a phone number, barely legible on the top of the pudding cup, and a crudely drawn winkie face, and he had known immediately that he would not be able to stop himself from calling._


End file.
